Met By Moonlight
by Raisse of Gondor
Summary: Peter Pan left Wendy to find her way in a cold, grown-up world by herself. She struggles to become the young woman she dreads to become - but when she meets an almost-to-familiar boy, her world begins to change once more. Reviews welcome. Chap 3 posted!
1. The Unfamiliar and Familiar

Met By Moonlight 

Disclaimer: I own nothing except what I own. Which is not Peter Pan or any of its' characters. Reviews are encouraged! 

Chapter One - The Unfamiliar and Familiar 

Wendy Moira Angela Darling stared out of the train window blankly, clutching her satchel tightly in her hands. The soft sound of the rhythm made by the train wheels on the tracks was comforting, almost lulling. And Wendy needed all of the comfort she could get. Boarding school... of all the places to send her, couldn't they have picked someplace more interesting or exciting? What a terrible place it would be. She felt a faint sense of fright, admittedly, of being sent to a strange place alone. Without her mother, father, or her many loving brothers. She already missed them. And it had only been three hours!

Wendy's aunt had convinced her parents that it would be a wonderful experience to take her last year of schooling away from home. She had said that _'a young lady grows from experiences away from home, among great minds and peers that will influence her greatness in society'_. Wendy had listened quietly, not daring to argue or protest her parent's decisions.

Wendy sighed softly, and her gaze averted to the vivid sunset... bright oranges and deep yellows threaded their way through pink clouds. It was beautiful, and it reminded her of the place called Neverland. Of Peter Pan. Did they really exist? She often questioned her sanity, wondering if was all some crazy, imaginative dream she had fooled herself into believing in her young years. She smiled slightly, remembering what a wild, untamed young girl she had been. Always playing, making believe, reading and telling wonderful, impossible stories. But swordplay, story telling, and daydreams had lost their attractive allure for Wendy long ago... around the time when Wendy had 'grown up'. Now, she was a respectable young woman who owned many beautiful dresses, possessed a great education, and would marry a successful businessman someday. 

Still, she felt uneasy about being away from home at the young age of seventeen. But the age seventeen was not considered young, she reminded herself. In several months, she would be expected to marry. Marriage was another thing Wendy wished could be forgotten, locked away. But she never said anything of it. Wendy avoided speaking about what upset her, and spoke about what she would like to avoid most. With every day, Wendy drew closer to the fate of a respectable young woman, and she pretended she looked forward to it. But deep down, buried beneath her deepest secrets, she dreaded it.

~~~~~~~~~~

Wendy clutched her bag tight against her chest, and stared up at the iron gates, wide-eyed, feeling small and frightened. Many other children milled around her, chatting, rummaging for papers, and some were engaging in horseplay. None were staring up at the cold silver letters that read 'Williamson and Martin's Boarding School' in spidery script. A small, sinking feeling welled up inside Wendy as she made her way into the courtyard.

The school looked exactly like what Wendy had pictured... perhaps even worse. Several grey buildings stood on rolling grey grounds. There was little grass, and the sky was... grey. There were large trees, but instead of bringing life and greenery to the scene, they seemed large and foreboding. 

"Avast!" a young man's voice cried out, breaking through Wendy's thoughts.

"I'll have thee!" cried another. Wendy turned curiously to see two boys with 'sword fighting' with sticks. A smile crept onto Wendy's face, and a warm feeling arose in her heart. The sight reminded her of home, of her younger years... she drew closer, watching them with unhidden interest. One of the boys was rather short and fat, and he had a sweet, dimpled face that suggested he had been spoiled... but he was very fast. The other boy was taller, much taller, and fit. Wendy could not see his face.

The shorter boy lunged forward and hit the taller one square on the chest, and the boy gave a greatly exaggerated cry of pain, stumbled backward, and before Wendy could react, he knocked her over onto the cold, wet gravel.

Wendy's breath was knocked from her mostly from the surprise of it all, and she simply laid still and blinked for a moment. The boy was getting up and mumbling apologies.

"... I'm really sorry, Miss."

"I-I should hope so!" she sputtered angrily, "My dress is rui-" but her dress was forgotten as he bent over her with a sheepish expression on his very familiar face... his face was young and fair, with eyes of green-blue. His cap had fallen off, revealing untamable blonde hair. It was Peter Pan! Or no, it was not! It could not be. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, putting his cap back on with one hand and helping her up with the other.

She could only nod dumbly, dazed. She stared at him quite inappropriately for a long moment. Yes, he looked alot like the Peter Pan she had known. Except he was much older, his skin was fairer, and he did not look quite as devilish. He looked... proper.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, cutting into her thoughts. Wendy felt the heat of a blush burn her ears and cheeks. He must have thought she was a fool, staring at him like a simpleton!

She opened her mouth to answer, but the shorter, plump boy interjected. "Of course she's not all right you big oaf!" he gave the tall boy a rather hard thud on the chest. The taller one barely flinched, looked down at Benton, and raised an eyebrow in a threatening way. 

"Oh, all right." the chubby boy said dejectedly. He walked off, throwing an annoyed glance over his shoulder before attacking another boy with his 'sword'.

"Don't pay attention to him." The tall boy said with a crooked smile. "So..." he scratched his cap absent mindedly. "What's your name?"

"Wendy Moira Angela Darling." she answered automatically, still unable to tear her eyes away from him. This was too strange - to meet a boy with such similiarity to that _Peter Pan_ she had made up so long ago!

"I'm Philip." he said casually, with a smile that seemed painfully familiar. "Johnson." he added quickly, remembering his manners.

"Do... do you have a brother, Philip?" she finally managed to ask. It was incredibly rude to just ask a question after introduction, but Wendy did not care at that precise moment.

"A brother?" he asked, obviously surprised. His eyes looked over her shoulder, and a distant look overcame them. "I _had_ a brother, long ago," he said softly. His eyes found hers again, and his voice was firm. "But he is dead."


	2. A Very Enjoyable Book

**Chapter Two - A Very Enjoyable Book**

The first few days of the new school year were spent settling into classes, meeting new teachers, and avoiding Philip Johnson. He had been a perfect gentleman upon their first meeting, apologizing for knocking her over, escorting her to the registration office, and then apologizing to her again. But Wendy felt odd in his presence, he reminded her _so much_ of the Peter Pan she had once known. Except, Philip was different. But still, the similarities were striking. The candid way he looked at her, and the crooked way he smiled. It all frustrated Wendy to no end. At night, she would wonder about the brother Philip said had died. Could he be related to Peter Pan? 

It did not help that Philip sat across from her in History and _beside_ her in Literature. He paid lots of undue attention to her, greeting her when she sat down, saying goodbye when classes ended, giving her sympathetic looks when she got questions wrong (which was very rare, of course!), and the corner of his mouth would lift into a crooked smile when she answered correctly. Wendy ignored his friendly actions, if only because he reminded her of someone she would like to forget about. And it was improper to befriend boys, of course.

Wendy did not particularly like any of the girls in her classes, most likely because none of them seemed to like her. All of the other girls mentioned Philip's name when speaking of boys, as girls often do. And all of these swooning young women looked at Wendy with jealous eyes when they spoke of Philip, who paid no attention to any young woman except Wendy Darling, the quiet and strange girl from London. 

Wendy had never really had many friends; there had been no need. With so many brothers, she had been befriended her entire life. She missed her family terribly now. Even though when she had last been there she spent more time by herself than with them, she missed the option of speaking with them at a moment's whim. Her extra time was now spent in the library or staring out of the window in her room. Her room was small, square, with one small window that would not open. The view was very plain. The flat, foggy moors were not very interesting or whimsical. 

But nevertheless, Wendy liked the school. There was a small theatre where plays were performed by the drama troupe, the meal-room always served tasty foods, and it was easy to find places to be alone. The classes and curriculum were challenging, and the teachers were very good at what they did. Wendy was sure her aunt would be pleased. 

The library was a dark, smelly place with many boring books about science, history, and complicated mathematics. And Wendy spent a lot of her time in it, sitting at the long reading table, her nose buried in a book. On a certain rainy Saturday morning, Wendy was trying to focus on reading about a very difficult mathematical function, a topic so incredibly boring and frustrating that she could barely stay focused on it. Not many other students were present, which made it even harder to concentrate. Wendy found herself wondering where they all were. 

Mid-afternoon, someone sat down across from her, with a huge book in his hands. It was Philip, and he looked so immensely interested in his reading that Wendy knew he was not studying. She studied the book cover intently, looking for its title, but did not see any. What could it be? Probably a fairy-tale book, or something wasteful like that. And then she studied his face for perhaps the fiftieth time. It was strange to see a face so like the one you once loved so long ago. Wendy was sure she had loved Peter Pan, real or not, with all of her 12-year-old hearts' capacity. 

Wendy kept silent for several moments, peeking up at Phillip from behind her book, expecting him to peek back, but he was thoroughly engrossed in his reading. Finally, Wendy's curious nature won over, and she cleared her throat softly. 

"What are you reading, Mr. Johnson?" she asked in a polite tone. 

"Hmm... a very enjoyable book, Miss Johnson," he answered, his eyes only glancing at her for a moment. 

"I used to read for enjoyment. A lot." said Wendy softly, more to herself than to Philip. His interest in the book seemed to diminish, and he looked at her, lowering the book slightly. 

"And now?" 

"Books of _that_ sort are a waste of time, I'm sure." she replied, sounding haughtier than she meant to. 

"Books of what sort? I'm reading Hamlet, by Shakespeare... it's very interesting. Not at all a waste of time." 

"Oh." 

"There are many swordfights," he said softly, looking at her from under his eyelashes, daring her to become interested. 

"Oh?" Wendy pretended not to be interested, turning a page in her book, glancing at him from the corners of her eyes.

"Yes! And mystery.... and betrayal... and love!" he paused. "But the love part is not interesting at all." he said, as if stating the obvious. Wendy pretended to be reading her book. 

Philip rose, and grabbed the broom that was leaned up against a nearby shelf, giving it a twirl. 

"What are you-" Wendy asked in a high, worried voice, lowering her book and looked around for anyone who might be watching.

"And there is murder!" he said, thrusting the broom at her book, stopping it an inch short. For a moment, Wendy considered laughing, throwing down her book, and asking Philip to tell her more. But then she remembered. She was a young lady, and that was not a _proper_ thing to do. 

"Yes, I know, I've read it before!" she exclaimed in a very exasperated voice. "You... you should grow up, Philip Johnson!" she exclaimed stiffly, slammed her book shut, and hurried from the library. 

Philip watched her go, looking more concerned that affronted. That Wendy was not like other girls... well, she acted like one, but he had a feeling that under all that neatly combed hair and hard studying, she was different. He had known it ever since he had first seen her. But... she tried to act like all the other girls. It made no sense to him, but he felt that she was the only girl in the entire school worth paying attention to. Philip gave Wendy another moment of thought, and then replaced the broom, retook his seat, picked up his book, and began to read again. 


	3. Cordially Yours

Chapter Three – Cordially Yours 

**Authors Note: **to answer the question put to me by LilFlyergirl, no, Philip is not Peter. We'll find out more about Philip's mystery brother in the next chapter or two, so hang tight! =) Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed so far, please keep on, it makes me happy!

Wendy regretted storming out of the library in such a temper, but it was the proper thing to do. Philip's playful actions angered her. Even though his appearance and manners were generally proper and sufficiently 'grown-up', they had _not_ been in the library. Had it been a few years ago, Wendy would have grabbed another broom and shown him how swordfights were done properly. But times had changed, and Wendy had to change as well.

It was most impossible to deny that Philip treated her the same way that Peter had - with a friendly candid nature, not held-back by manners, formalities, or rules. He seemed to know who and what she really was, without asking. It was unnerving, but at the same time, it was what Wendy desired best. A person who understood who and what she was, a person who asked no more or less of her. '_But why?'_ she wondered many times. She could not see what interested Philip in her, why he paid this special attention to her. It was another frustrating question that irked her, that had no answer.

After leaving the library, Wendy retreated to her room, and after trying to decide what to do for an hour, she wrote to her parents, telling them she had arrived safely, was enjoying her studies, and had made many new friends, which was a lie, but it would make her parents happy. She signed the letter 'cordially yours, Wendy'. She studied the signature gravely. 'Cordially yours, Wendy'. It seemed impersonal and cold, as the rest of the letter had been.

She carefully put the letter in an envelope, addressing and sealing it with the care she had not put into words inside the letter. And then she gazed idly out of her window, as she had done so many times and nights before. But the stars were difficult to see, and the moon was not visible.

-+-

Sunday morning dawned bright and cold, the snow was… wait, snow?! Wendy rubbed her eyes to make sure she was not seeing things – but there it was, pure, white, abundant snow, as far as her eyes could see. The snow brought a smile to her face, she had always loved snow! Many beloved memories of joy and happiness had snow in them… snowball fights, snowmen… but today was Sunday, which meant mass at the Catholic Church. Besides, why would she be interested in playing in the snow now, at her age? She was an almost fully-grown young woman! Playing was a waste of time.

Wendy closed her curtains to avoid seeing the snow, and then dressed quickly in her warmest dress, stockings, and hat, gently convincing herself that mass would be over in a few hours, and then she could at least admire the snow, perhaps taking a walk around the grounds. 

The weather outside was divine. The air was crisp and cold, the snow dry and deep. All of the other children hurried past, seemingly liking the idea of mass more than Wendy did, paying little attention to the fallen snow. Wendy's pace was snail-like, her feet seemed to have minds of their own, and she stopped walking completely, and gazed around as the last of the children went into the church building. And then she saw it. The lake! She had not really noticed it before; before it looked like a small hollow in the land filled with grey water. But now it was frozen over, and clearly visible. And by the lake sat a tall, lanky figure with wild blonde hair... Philip. The one who deserved an apology from Wendy. Wendy looked at the dull stone church building. She looked at the lake where Philip seemed to be waiting for her arrival. The lake won.

'_No one will even notice I'm gone._' She told herself, and made for the lake. As she drew closer to Philip, Wendy become nervous. What if he was angry with her? He would probably never speak to her again… but an apology was due, either way, and she would deliver it.

He must have heard her coming, for he turned, stood, and smiled.

"Good morning!" he said to her, his breath making little clouds of white in the cold morning air.

"Good morning." Wendy returned, and admired him for a moment. His cheeks were flushed pink and his eyes were bright. His hair was tousled and uncombed, and he held something that looked like a sketchbook in his hands.

"Oh! Are you sketching?" Wendy asked curiously, avoiding her apology.

He nodded. Wendy thought he might show her what he sketched, but he made no move to show her, and feeling embarrassed, Wendy looked away. Even though the temperature was frigid, Wendy felt uncomfortably warm. Philip looked expectantly at her, a smile playing with his lips. She cleared her throat.

"I… I'm sorry... forbeingsorudetoyouyesterday." The words spilled out in a rushed jumble, and Philip's face was filled with mock-confusion. 

"I'm sorry, didn't _quite_ catch that."

"You heard what I said!" Wendy said, a grin splitting her face, laughter in her voice. Phillip grinned back, and Wendy knew she was forgiven.

"You weren't rude, Wendy," Phillip assured her, his face growing slightly more serious. "I'll try to behave my age around you,"

Wendy smiled. 

"At least some of the time." He added, and before Wendy could move, he had launched a snowball at her. Where it had come from, Wendy could not tell, but she let out a shriek of surprise, grabbed some snow, and threw it at him without thinking. He laughed heartily.

"Why _Wendy_, you ought to be ash–" he began, but was cut short as a bigger snowball hit his chest.

"And you ought to prepare to defend yourself!" Wendy said threateningly, holding up another snowball, smiling widely. Philip set down his sketchbook slowly, carefully, gently…

And then launched another snowball at her. Wendy ducked and laughed outright, throwing a badly aimed snowball back. Philip let out a howl of mock-agony as he was hit in the shoulder. The rest of the morning dissolved into snowball fights and laughter, a thing that Wendy did not participate in wholeheartedly most of the time.


End file.
